Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy

by Hughes, Charlotte

  She rubbed her hands together. “Now, what can I do to help?”

  “You can join us at the table and give me a full report on the damage to my house,” Reba said. “I didn’t want to question Gator.”

  Michelle took the chair beside her grandmother. Fiona put another glass of iced tea in front of her as Michelle told Reba what all she and Gator had managed to get done, as well as what was left to do. “It would be best if you could hire one of those companies to come out and put industrial-sized fans on the first floor and stairs; otherwise it’s going to take the downstairs longer to dry and might cause your furniture to mildew.”

  Reba nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Michelle took a sip of tea. “Gator managed to gather most of the debris in the yard. He stacked it into several piles. You will probably want to have it hauled off. Also, as you know, a number of windows were broken in the storm. I think I managed to get most of the glass up. We covered the broken ones with plastic.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Reba said. “The power company is working around-the-clock since so many folks are without electricity, but I have no idea how long it will take them to get my power restored since I’m so far out in the boonies.”

  “That’s why you’re going to stay with me until everything is taken care of,” Fiona said. “As for your cats—”

  “The cats will be fine,” Michelle said, interrupting. “Gator has promised to see to them.” She gave her grandmother a stern look. “Sorry to change the subject, but after this incident, I insist that you get a telephone, as well as wear one of those accident alert buttons on your wrist or hang around your neck.”

  Reba sighed. “I suppose, at least for the phone. Besides, Fiona showed me how much I miss having folks to talk to. I just didn’t want much to do with people after your grandfather died.”

  “He died a very long time ago, Grand,” Michelle said.

  “I know. But sometimes it seems like yesterday.” She gave another sigh. “I suppose it’s time I moved on, as you young people like to say.”

  They talked for a while longer, and then Fiona took Michelle on a tour of the house. Everything was as cheery as the kitchen, decorated in splashes of yellow and white. Crisp white curtains billowed at the windows and thriving plants adorned every available table and shelf. Fiona opened the door to Gator’s old bedroom, and Michelle stepped inside.

  What surprised her most was the number of books in the room. One wall had been devoted entirely to book cases, upon which rested a variety of paperbacks, ranging from mystery and detective stories to horror novels. Interspersed among them was an odd assortment—books on reptiles and fish, and extrasensory perception.

  “Matthieu loved to read as a child,” Fiona said. “He wasn’t crazy about his schoolbooks, but the boy must’ve read every mystery ever written. He was a bit of a loner, I reckon. Never had any real close friends.”

  Michelle nodded, taking in the old retro record player and albums that lined another shelf, and a tall stack of CDs. She thumbed through his CD collection, finding country-western, hard rock, alternative, and a couple of gospel albums. She felt like a snoop, but she was hoping his personal things would offer some insight into the man. They didn’t. The real Gator Landry was neatly tucked inside the man, and she doubted if he’d ever let anyone really see him. She glanced up at the twin bed with its old-fashioned quilt that she knew Fiona had made. Over the bed hung a simple wooden crucifix, its polished surface glinting in the afternoon sun.

  “Matthieu was such a neat boy,” Fiona said, absently straightening a picture on the wall. “His father was very particular. Everything had to be in its place.” She chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve grown a bit lax since his death.”

  “Your home looks great to me,” Michelle said.

  “I’d rather be working in my garden or the flower beds,” the woman confessed. She smiled suddenly. “Come outside and see my flowers. Or should I say what’s left of them since the storm.”

  For the next half hour, while Reba dozed on the front porch, Michelle followed Fiona over the grounds as the woman pointed out various flowers and shrubs she’d planted and nurtured over the years. “It will take a lot of work getting them in shape again after all the damage done to them.”

  Michelle was amused as Fiona rattled off the history of each plant as if it were a member of the family. They ended up spending the better part of the afternoon working in the flower beds, digging holes and replanting a number of flowers and shrubs that had been ripped from the ground. They tied back Fiona’s prized rosebushes that had been particularly damaged in the storm. Michelle found several strips of wood in the garage and tucked them inside the bushes, adding more ties for additional support.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” Fiona said once they’d done all they could for the roses.

  Michelle smiled. “I used to help Grand with her gardening when I spent the summers with her. I’ve always loved flowers. I must have two dozen house plants at home.”

  Fiona nodded. “You’re probably in a hurry to get back.”

  Michelle nodded. “My job is very important to me,” she said.

  “Everyone needs something meaningful in their life,” Fiona replied. “I don’t know what I’d do without my flowers and my church work.” She paused. “But I think a family is important too, don’t you?”

  Michelle thought it an odd question. “If you meet the right person,” she said. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck in that area.” She wondered, even as she said it, why it was so easy to talk to Fiona.

  “Maybe you aren’t looking hard enough.”

  Michelle laughed at the serious expression on Fiona’s face. “I’m not advertising at online dating services, if that’s what you mean. But most men, wherever you meet them, don’t seem to have a sincere interest in marriage and family these days.”

  Fiona smiled and plucked a perfect rosebud that had miraculously survived the storm. She handed it to Michelle. “Men are a lot like roses, dear. They each have their share of thorns that make it tough to get close to them. And their hearts are just as delicate and fragile as a rose petal, believe it or not. But with the right amount of love and nurturing and understanding, they too can blossom into something wonderful.”

  Michelle gazed at the rose thoughtfully. “What a lovely comparison, Fiona. You should write poetry.”

  The woman laughed and waved the statement aside. “You look tired, dear,” she said to Michelle after a while. “Why don’t you rest now?”

  It sounded like a great idea to Michelle. “I think I’ll lie on that chaise lounge in the shade,” she said. “Unless there’s something else I can do to help you.”

  “Go ahead,” Fiona said, shooing her in that direction. “You’ve done enough work.”

  Michelle pulled off her work gloves and handed them to Fiona. Still clutching the rose bud between her fingers, she crossed the backyard to the lounge chair that sat beneath a giant oak. She adjusted the back into a reclining position and lay down, crossing her long legs at the ankles.

  So peaceful, she thought, hearing the screen door close behind Fiona as the woman went back into the house. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead and fanned her cheek. She closed her eyes. She wasn’t surprised when Gator’s face came into view, and she wondered if she would ever be able to close her eyes without seeing him.

  #

  Gator made his way across the backyard toward the garage where his mother claimed he would find the new barbecue grill. He came to a screeching halt when he spotted Michelle sleeping in the chair. He stepped closer.

  She looked clean and fresh in a blue summer dress, and her face was as delicate in sleep as the rose in her lap. Her hair had been pulled back, but some of it had escaped, and blond tendrils wafted over her face in the breeze. She had never looked lovelier. He slid his gaze downward to her slender legs and smiled at the sight of her bare feet. Her eyelashes fluttered open then, and she appeared surprised at finding him
there.

  “Did I fall asleep?”

  He nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “Oh.” She rose up and patted her hair self-consciously. “I must’ve been more tired than I thought.”

  Her words seemed to amuse him. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, as I recall.”

  “That’s true,” she said. She wondered how long he’d been watching her. “When did you get here?”

  “Just this minute. My mother sent me out to find the grill, with firm instructions not to wake you.”

  Michelle noticed he’d changed clothes. He looked good in a short-sleeve cotton print shirt and the usual blue jeans. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “You could do one thing, Mic,” he said at last. “You could stop tempting me beyond rational thought. You could stop haunting my dreams at night. That would help a great deal.” With that he walked away.

  Chapter Nine

  Michelle couldn’t remember the last time that chicken had tasted so good. Having spent the past few days eating hot dogs and canned tuna and Spam, the grilled chicken was a real treat. Fiona had picked some of the last of her vegetables from the garden and, of course, there was also the old standby these days, pork and beans from a can. Michelle took a serving out of politeness but decided she’d eaten enough pork and beans to last a lifetime.

  Gator was surprisingly quiet over dinner, although he gave a progress report on the work in town. A group of Mennonites had arrived that afternoon with several truckloads of lumber and planned to work as long as necessary to get people back into their homes. Donations had already started pouring in, through both the Red Cross and from churches and private citizens trying to assist the homeless. An anonymous caller had donated a brand new mobile home for a family of six who’d lost their trailer when part of the mobile-home park had been destroyed. Gator and the town’s officials hoped it would spark more donations, since FEMA was not giving out any trailers.

  It was dark by the time they finished dinner, and while Michelle assisted the women in cleaning up, Gator lit the kerosene lamps. Michelle sensed the change in him. He was withdrawing. It was clear by the way he avoided eye contact with her, by the way he was careful not to stand too close, and by the way he walked clear around the table to avoid brushing past her. It irritated the daylights out of her. All her insecurities threatened to surface, but she forced them back. She was not going to let Gator’s behavior upset her, she told herself. She did not deserve it. She had given him the best part of her. If he chose to back off, that was his problem.

  It had been good between them—downright wonderful, as a matter of fact. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe Gator realized he wasn’t likely to find it so good anywhere else. Something had clicked between them, not only physically, but emotionally. She was certain Gator knew that. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his tender kiss, and heard it in his sighs of pleasure.

  Gator could deny it all he wanted, but deep down he had to recognize it for what it was—love. Still, she would bite off her tongue before she’d try to convince him. She would never push or try to extract promises from him. Heaven knew, she’d had enough of that from her parents, always vying for their attention, living on false promises, playing second fiddle to their busy careers and social life.

  It hadn’t been much better with Jeffrey. With him, medicine and his patients had come first. All his energies had been geared to that cause, and by the time he could schedule an evening with her, he was emotionally drained. She had not minded at first, so impressed was she with his dedication to others. But now she realized he’d spent a great deal of time whining to her about it afterward or breaking dates simply because he was too exhausted to do anything. And she had been exhausted too, having worked right alongside him. Yet, somehow that fact had escaped him. She had been shortchanged in the relationship. She didn’t feel sorry for herself any longer, thank heavens, but she was determined not to let it happen again. From now on, she would get back what she gave to a man. She would come first in his life or not at all.

  “Why don’t we sit on the front porch for a bit?” Fiona suggested, interrupting Michelle’s thoughts. The older woman untied her cotton apron and folded it. “It’s much cooler.”

  Gator had a refusal formed on his lips but bit it back. He couldn’t very well rush off without appearing rude. He would stay ten or fifteen minutes, then excuse himself, saying he had to get back to town. He knew it was crazy to stay. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Michelle all evening, and every time she caught him staring he glanced away. He felt like a teenager again, trying to catch her scent as she passed by him. He would have half the town laughing at him behind his back by the time she returned home.

  Reba and Fiona carried the conversation for a while; then, as though perfectly synchronized, they stood and excused themselves, announcing they were ready for bed. The screen door slammed closed behind them, and Gator suddenly found himself alone with Michelle.

  He gazed at her for a moment, tracing her silhouette in the moonlight. Her neck looked long and sleek with her hair pulled back. He was tempted to loosen her hair from the braid affixed at the back of her head so he could watch her blond hair fall to her shoulders. His gut tightened at the thought of how she’d looked in bed with her hair fanning the pillow.

  He should tell her how he was feeling, he thought. Tell her why he had to put some distance between them. It wasn’t fair just leaving her hanging as he’d done with other women so many times before. This wasn’t just any woman; this was Michelle, the girl he’d dreamed about for sixteen years. He owed her the truth. But before he could say anything, she stood and stretched.

  “I think I’ll turn in now,” she said, giving him an easy smile. “I need to be up early in the morning and get into town. I want to see what can be done about my car.” She patted Gator on the shoulder as she passed, much as she would have a brother or an old school buddy. She didn’t see his look of surprise. “Good night,” she said. And then she was gone.

  For a moment, Gator merely sat there, staring at the chair she’d occupied only a moment before. He had planned his exit so carefully, rehearsed exactly what he’d say if she tried to pressure him or stop him from leaving. Oddly enough, she hadn’t asked him about the future, nor had she made any reference to the time they’d spent alone at Reba’s place. He hadn’t had to lie or make excuses or offer his usual speeches.

  And, frankly, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  Gator pushed himself up from the rocker and headed toward his truck, a frown drawing his brows together. He drove toward town, passing the Night Life Lounge, where a dozen or so cars were parked out front. Knowing the owner as he did, Gator figured the man would have iced down a couple of cases and was serving by candlelight. He braked, thinking he might stop by for a cold one and a bit of conversation.

  He pulled off the road and sat in the parking lot for a full five minutes, trying to decide what to do. Well, why not go inside and pop a can, he thought. He was off duty and had put in a rough day. He deserved to kick up his feet and relax a bit. Of course, he would be expected to flirt and carry on with the women as he usually did. He hadn’t let a sheriff’s badge change him in that department.

  But he had changed in other ways, he knew. He had fallen in love with Michelle Thurston all over again, and he was half-afraid someone would discover it, either in his face or in the way he talked. And how would he carry on an intelligent conversation, for Pete’s sake? It was like she had stolen his mind. He couldn’t think straight these days, and he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Michelle had hit town. Boy, falling in love really took it out of a guy, he decided.

  Once again, he told himself he had to get her out of town. Until then, he would have to put his partying aside. He didn’t need a beer when he was confused to begin with. And he didn’t need loud music or conversation when his thoughts were so jumbled he couldn’t see his hands in front of his face.
<
br />   Gator accelerated, pulling out of the parking lot and leaving the lounge behind, and he silently cursed the green-eyed woman who’d reduced him to such a sad state.

  #

  When Gator carried a bag of ice out to his mother’s the following afternoon, he learned that Michelle had gotten up early and driven Fiona’s car into town. She returned just as he was about to leave, her expression almost forlorn.

  “Did you find someone to help you with your car?” he asked as she climbed out of his mother’s old station wagon.

  “They can’t get to it until next week,” she said. “It’s going to take them a few more days to repair the bridge. Needless to say, they can’t get to my car until the bridge is safe to cross. Then I have to wait my turn. My car was not the only one damaged in the storm,” she added with a dejected sigh.

  Gator crossed his arms and leaned against his truck. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. She was wearing the same blue dress from the day before, her hair pulled into a demure ponytail, making her appear years younger. He realized then just how disappointed he’d been when he’d arrived and found her gone.

  He hadn’t slept worth a damn the night before, tossing and turning in his bed until the wee hours of the morning, his thoughts, as always, trained on Michelle. He wondered if she guessed what he was going through, the emptiness that stole over him when she wasn’t around, the fear and frustration of seeing her and knowing nothing could come of their relationship. He wondered if she was going through any of it herself, but decided she probably wasn’t. She was in such an all-fired hurry to get back home she probably had no idea how much he was suffering.

  On one hand, he wanted her so badly he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to feel her beneath him, opening herself up to him, just as his mother’s roses opened their petals to receive the sun. He wanted to fill her with his own heat. He wanted to slip his tongue between those dewy lips of hers, hear her sigh of pleasure at his ear, feel her body tremble at his touch, and listen to the tiny gasping sound she made each time she climaxed. He wanted to reach out in his sleep and find her there, soft and warm and smelling like a piece of heaven. Once again, he chided himself for having such dangerous thoughts.